240 on a pond. They passed the last houses, and were between the open fields, Mr. Munn raised his head to scan the sky. " It's funny," he said, " but in town, you know, you don't notice much what the weather's like." "There're a lot of things you don't notice in town," she returned. He continued to look at the sky, which showed no sun, and at the lead-coloured horizon. " What?" he asked. " Oh," she answered, " yourself, for instance." "Yourself?" He looked directly at her, but she did not meet his gaze. " Yes, yourself." She looked up the road, over the horse's head. Then she continued: " Yes, when I was in St. Louis, all that time, I didn't know a bit what I was like, really. I never noticed myself. I did things, and I never knew why." "Not often, any place, a man's too sure why he's doing something/' Mr. Munn said. Then: " Not often, but some- times, by God." " I never was," she told him, " before." " Are you now?" "Surer," she replied. "Now." They fell silent for a few minutes, looking at the fields and the distant woods. Then she asked, " Are you?" "Am I what?" He knew what she meant, but like a man who plays for time, he parried the question. "Sure," she said. " Not always." " I thought you were, always." "Why?" he demanded. She paused, then went on: "Because you look that way. The way you move. The way you say something. You say it like you were sure. And what you've done." "Whathave I done?" She continued to look up the road. " Oh, nothing, that is, not any one thing," she replied, "not any one thing. Just everything sort of taken together, you know."